


Rover

by Kirsten



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-06
Updated: 2003-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-13 14:46:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirsten/pseuds/Kirsten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blasted dog would not move.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rover

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to celli and oxoniensis for beta reading.

Blasted dog would not move. All these days and Jack still didn't know his name. Sometimes Jack liked to think of him as Rover, ironical though it was – dog didn't rove anywhere but to his food bowl and back again. From time to time Jack thought about bashing Rover with that worn old bone, on the head right between his ears. Stupid animal could walk straight out the door if the fancy took him, and yet still he sat here, in a stinking prison halfway up a hill in Port bloody Royal.

Most of the time, though, Jack thought of him as Dog and felt quite well disposed towards him, seeing as how he was the only company an unfortunate pirate was likely to get while locked up in a stinking prison halfway up a hill in Port Royal. It was a nice name for a reasonable beast, free of unpleasant connotations, and if Jack ever gritted his teeth with irritation while intoning it he was sure to visit Hell as a consequence.

"Life of a sea dog's not for you, eh, Dog?" Jack rapped his knuckles on the bars in an attempt to stir some interest. Dog didn't stir. "Still, not all bad, I suppose. Settled lad like yourself must have a ready supply of disreputable ladies on hand for a little bit of the fun stuff every now and then."

Dog blinked. Jack sighed and stared at him. Dog stared back. Part of their daily pissing contest, this, and Dog always celebrated his victory by moving just a little closer to the bars, so close that if Jack really stretched he could almost pat Dog on the nose but not catch hold of the keys.

"'Tis a cruel torment," Jack told him. "Your jailer-master taught you well."

Dog blinked. Jack shook his head and lay down on the stone floor, random straw stalks scratching his back through his shirt. It was too quiet, without the washing of waves and the creaking of sails. He rocked a little from side to side, but the stone was harsh on his shoulder blades.

"Tell you something about the Pearl, Dog," he said to his companion. "The way she smells when you're up by the helm. Like salt and sweat and rotten fish and fresh wind from the sea. That's a sweet smell, that is." He turned his head and met Dog's eyes. "Don't suppose you'd know much about the sweet smell of a lady, eh, Dog?"

Dog whined in protest.

"Dog!" Jack exclaimed. "You ol' dog!"

Dog lay down on his belly, keys draped over his paws. He blinked again, then closed his eyes with a sigh.

"Aye," Jack muttered, following suit so that all he saw was the darkness behind his eyelids. A blank black canvass to paint his vessel upon, her curves and her grace, and the skirts of her billowing sails. "The Pearl's a lady, alright."

A lady, but not a prude. Jack could never love a frigid type, had no appetite for sterile beauties like the Interceptor. The Pearl was his mistress, and he'd follow wherever she led.

And she did seem to lead. She was the vessel, and though he bore the title they both knew who was truly the captain. It was a secret they shared. It made Jack laugh, for she had never steered him wrong. She had turned them into Port Royal once more, and once more he enjoyed Norrington's hospitality and the pleasure of Dog's company while waiting for his turn at the gallows. It had been days, yes, but he would not doubt her now.

He could picture her at rest in the bay, her sails furled and her oars holding silent. She was waiting for him. He heard her whispering sometimes at night, her stories of wild evening storms with rain sharper than the lash and sunsets red and orange, of dawns grey and pale like the winter sun. The sea an endless, open road, ready to be danced by them both.

There'd be convenient resting points along the way, of course, mostly taking the form of rich merchant ships with fat bellies to be cut and plundered. He'd sample their wares and taste them briefly, but he'd always go back to his girl.

The jangle of keys made Jack rise. He watched Dog pace sedately toward his food bowl, head held high in anticipation of some hearty chunk of meat. Jack briefly envied Dog his luxury of such expectations, and then scolded himself for his meanness of spirit. Dog lived with shit. He surely deserved good food.

But it was not his jailer-master who turned the corner. Jack quirked an eyebrow, and grinned at Will Turner.

"I've a feeling things are about to get interesting," he said, and whispered his thanks to his Pearl.


End file.
